


Knight Takes Rook

by Face_of_Poe



Series: The Element of Surprise [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Gen, Orphan Alexander Hamilton, Prequel, Starfleet Academy, mild deception/manipulation tones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 00:24:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17929235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Face_of_Poe/pseuds/Face_of_Poe
Summary: Recruiting cadets for spec ops is a delicate, highly personalized balancing act.Cadet Hamilton is a more curious case than most.





	Knight Takes Rook

**Author's Note:**

> My creative hibernation word-prompt exercise continues to build this universe in a very spastic and piecemeal fashion.   
> [recalcitrant, sliver, stone, benign]

They’re not usually top of the class. The likely contenders.

Oddballs, misfits. Checkered pasts and spotty upbringings that made them resourceful, resilient, but aren’t necessarily conducive to creating outstanding students. Middle of the pack, some struggling to scrape through on barely passing grades.

Not usually top of the class.

_Never_ the very foremost cadet, in every module, reliably for three straight years. It risks raising questions.

He’s too curious _not_ to pursue the matter.

And so he puts on a well-practiced benign smile and bids his visitor enter the office maintained by his branch that masquerades as another one entirely, and watches for any sign of surprise, suspicion, even _interest_ , because this must be one of a half-dozen such meetings this particular cadet has had this term alone.

Recruitment. Command teams vying for the most promising cadets, and the cadets in turn seeking the most prestigious assignments on the ships with the most exciting missions. For some cadets, on starbases or liaison offices back closer to home, research outposts. Always a balancing act.

He enters politely curious, and remains politely curious through the obligatory formalities. “Commander von Steuben, sir.”

“Good evening, Cadet Hamilton.” He waves the young lad into a chair. “A pleasure to make the acquaintance of the Academy’s next valedictorian.”

Hamilton dissembles. Shrugs his shoulders, lowers his gaze as if embarrassed. “Still two terms before that’s determined, sir.”

_As if his every waking moment weren’t governed by a fierce need to push himself further and further, the desperate quest to prove. To_ run _._

“There is a time and a place for modesty, Cadet. _Diplomacy_.” Hamilton blinks at him once. Unreadable. “The academy is not it.”

Hamilton takes the rebuke, such as it is, in stride. “Then perhaps you ought to know that I met with Commander Greene just last week, and have a sit down with Commander Knox next month. Before you make your pitch, sir.”

Confident. A sliver of defiance peeking out from behind a carefully honed exterior. _Better_.

Von Steuben smiles and thumbs on his datapad. Taps a button on the side and projects the contents of the screen into the air between them. Hamilton’s cadet file, at a glance – his scores and grades, his latest class photo with his cadet rank and honors pips.

He flicks his hand and moves to the next document. This one, with a very different sort of picture, a wild-eyed and malnourished fourteen-year-old who could have passed for twelve. “Tell me about this report.”

“It’s supposed to be sealed.”

“It is,” von Steuben assures him with nothing else by way of explanation. “You were a stowaway.”

“That was more than six _years_ ago.” He just watches the boy, intent, and waits. And finally gets a grudging, “We spent our last money bribing the cargo handlers to sneak us into the hold.”

“And then got detained trying to pickpocket people who haven’t carried money for about two and a half centuries.” The rise of a faint flush is the only interruption of Hamilton’s stony visage. “Why were you so desperate to reach Federation space if you knew so little of its component cultures?”

Hamilton’s jaw tenses, his posture stiffens. Echoes of old recalcitrance, trained into him by a brutal and distrusting childhood and carefully held at bay now in the interests of pursuing a better future.

Von Steuben prods him along; swipes to the next part of the file and another picture. Another boy, twelve, eyes unfocused and fever-bright.

Hamilton swallows and nods at the image. “He was sick. By the time we found a healer who would even humor a couple poor orphans, she said the Federation was his best hope.”

“And what happened when you were caught?”

“They took him to medical.”

“And you?”

Hamilton’s eyes dart down to his lap; it’s not an act this time. “They fed me. Found me clothes and a berth.”

“And a home, no?” He just gets a stiff nod. “They found someone to sponsor you both. In fact, Doctor Stevens adopted your friend the next year. But not you?”

“Wasn’t interested.”

Von Steuben catches Hamilton’s eye and nods slowly, sympathetic. “Spend enough of your life on the run, domesticity can be stifling in its own way.” He gets no reaction to that. “You stole, and lied, and cheated all your life. Honed your sharp wit, and learned to fight the fights it couldn’t slip you out of.”

“That’s right.”

“You killed.” The faintest flicker of a reaction – _that_ was not even in the sealed file. Perhaps a secret the boy thought would accompany him to the grave. “Kept a shiv in your shoe whenever the dealers were prowling the underbelly of society for fresh –”

“I _survived_ ,” Hamilton cuts him off. “Kept Neddy alive, kept us _free_ , and got us out.”

Von Steuben waves the projection away and leans forward to search the cadet’s guarded face. “And now, all you wish is to take to the stars again.”

“Are you going to stand in my way, Commander von Steuben?”

“Not at all. But _you_ , Cadet-” He fixes Hamilton with a piercing stare. “Your background, your mind, your aptitude with languages… are you going to _settle_ for a simple career in the science corps, monitoring botany scans and air quality readings?” Hamilton doesn’t move. “Or do you feel like you were meant for something more?”

And _there_ , finally – the faintest spark –

Hunger.


End file.
